


Better Late

by PenPistola



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Gen, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance, Rooftop scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-03
Updated: 2015-12-03
Packaged: 2018-05-04 21:12:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5348681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PenPistola/pseuds/PenPistola
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dave and Dirk share a quiet moment in the calm before the storm, and come to understand each other and what they each have to offer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Better Late

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this shortly after the updates in which Dave and Dirk had their heart-to-heart (or Time-to-Heart?), but only now am I getting around to finishing and posting it. But it's timely, I guess. Happy birthday, boyos.

The sky churned over the Land of Tombs and Krypton like a slowly roiling sea, heavy, oppressive clouds cut by arcs of bright plasma in ephemeral Lichtenberg figures. This place had always seemed to suit my mood in the past, but for once I wished for someplace quieter, more peaceful. Dave sat beside me on the rooftop ledge, his palms braced on either side of him and his Converse kicking lazily out into the empty air. In the aftermath of our 'lightning round,' as he'd called it, the silence that had settled over us as we waited for Terezi's arrival was far less strained than before. The point of contact where his shoulder brushed mine was a bright, steady glow in the periphery of my consciousness. After so long spent trying to escape myself, I was baffled by the idea that someone might actually enjoy my presence. That _Dave_ would consent to stay this close to me, after what he'd confessed… It made me feel undeservingly honored.

"This is nice," he said, in an echo of my own thoughts.

"Yeah." Ever so eloquent; I, the wordsmith.

Less than half a mile from where we sat, lightning lanced down to strike one of the myriad towers, illuminating the krypton mist around it in a yellow-green glow. The responding thunder rumbled up through the concrete almost instantaneously. It was an uncomfortable reminder that our time together, this not-quite-literal calm before the storm, was limited.

Dave inhaled as if to speak, and then shut his mouth with a click. I cast a glance at him from the corner of my eye. When he caught me looking, he turned away, and for a nerve-wracking moment, I was sure I had done something wrong. But then he said quietly, "Maybe we could do this again sometime, when the battle's over. And maybe…" He seemed reluctant to continue, worrying at his lip.

"Maybe what?" I prompted him gently.

"Maybe we could help each other out." He spoke with a wry half-smile, leaving himself an out to laugh the idea off as irony if I turned him down—but I was intrigued.

"Help each other how?" I asked.

He finally turned back my way, studying me from behind his shades, as if to gauge the sincerity of my interest. Even after six months spent growing accustomed to interacting with other humans in person, the scrutiny itched. But if the other me had been as much of an unreadable bastard as Dave had implied, then who was I to complain now? I tried to convey sincerity to the best of my limited capacity for facial expression, and to my relief, he seemed to accept it.

"You said you were making an effort to be a better person. To not be like… like him." A small shudder ran through Dave's body into mine, and I felt yet another frisson of guilt by proxy. "Well, nobody alive knows him better than I did, so... "

It began to dawn on me what Dave was suggesting. My emotions ran the gamut in the space of a second: from defensiveness, to fear, to unworthiness, then to affection, hope, anxiety, and even more guilt. "You're saying you'll tell me when I start edging on dangerous territory?" I asked, once I'd processed it all. "Pull me back when I get too cold?"

Roxy loved me too much to be what I needed, was too willing to overlook my flaws, but Dave... From this distance, I could see the fierceness in his eyes, despite his soft voice and gentle hands. Dave would never let me off the hook so easily. He'd fucking chain me to the hook, in fact, so tightly that no maneuver, however acrobatic, could separate us. 'Til death do us part. "You'd... really be willing to spend enough time around me to do that?"

"Yeah." Dave, the wordsmith. "If you want."

There had to be some catch. "What would you get out of it?"

"A family member who fuckin' cares about me," Dave snorted. "A Bro who's actually my bro, and not some inscrutable asshole who just so happens to share half my DNA." His words were bitter, but under the weight of years of cynicism I could hear the affection-starved child, desperate for someone, anyone, to care.

Demonstrating affection was still hard for me, after years of isolation with only robots for company, but if there were ever a time to set my hangups aside, it was now. I swallowed my nerves and my pride and slid my arm around Dave's shoulders once more. In a moment he was facing me, snaking his arms around my middle to complete the embrace. Fuck that stupid 'bro' half-hug back-pat shit. This wasn’t some pansy-ass, light mayo, decaf hug; it was the real deal, a rib cracker. It was amazing.

I rested my chin on the crown of his head. "You want what we're doing right now."

"Yeah, hugs are… hugs are good. And maybe every once in a while, you could… I dunno, just, tell me you care about me. Or something."

"So, basically, you want a moirallegiance." 

From this close, I could see his long, pale lashes as he blinked behind his shades. "I hadn't thought of it that way, but yeah, if that's what you wanna call it. We have each other's backs, keep each other grounded. Feelings jam like this every now and then. And maybe drop some ill rhymes, you know, if you’re into that sort of thing. Take 'em out behind the tool shed. Put 'em outta their misery.”

I'd failed him already as an older brother, as a father. A chance to do things right by him? That wasn't something to take lightly. Despite my best efforts to contain my emotions, my eyes began to sting, and for once, I didn't try to hide it. "I think… that's something I could do. Something I'd like to do," I sniffed. "I think it could work."

He smiled, the barest flicker of relief. "Cool."

We both fell silent to let the weight of the agreement settle in, and I used the time to compose myself—not because I felt I had to save face, but because in my experience, post-cry headaches were a bitch. Not that I’ve had too many of those. Dave's head was still pressed to my chest, though his arms around my middle had gone slack. I ran my fingers cautiously through his hair, a blend of Roxy's strawberry blonde and my own ashy flaxen, and they tightened again.

"Have you ever held a bird egg in your hand?" he asked.

It seemed like an odd question, but I figured he had a point. "Yeah. I had to relocate seagull eggs sometimes, growing up, when they built nests in my rain catchers."

"Then you know how delicate they are. If you're not careful, it's easy to crush them."

"Is this a metaphor?" I asked, beginning to understand.

"You're holding my heart in your hands, bro. Try not to break it this time."

I swallowed around the lump in my throat, that strange combination of guilt, hope, self-loathing, and affection, all tangled up as one, and I smiled. "I'll try."


End file.
